Samantha James (19 page)

A jagged moan caught in his throat. “Sweet heaven,” he breathed, the words nearly lost in a rush of air. With his hands he lifted her. For one perilous moment, she was suspended above him, the sleek, ultra sensitive crown of his shaft encased tight within hot clinging flesh.

Smothering a groan, he brought her down upon him, only barely holding his desire in check, for he was determined she find her pleasure first. Again and again he lunged inside her, his hold on her almost frantic as he sought the driving, pumping rhythm that would send them both tumbling over the edge.

Meredith shuddered. His thrusts were torrid and tempestuous. She clutched at the binding of his shoulders. Waves of scorching heat shimmered all through her, scaling ever higher toward something that hovered just beyond reach.

Her hips writhed against his. Straining. Circling. Then she felt it, a starburst of ecstasy cascading all through her.

She cast back her head. He kissed the arch of her throat. Dimly she cried his name, again and again. Stark and shivering, ’twas a sound that drifted aloft to the heavens and above…

A sound that sped straight to his heart.

It was several days later when Cameron quietly announced that they would return to Dunthorpe. At the thought, a cold wind seemed to sweep across her heart. By now everyone would know that she had lain with Cameron. She remembered the jeers and leers of his clansmen when she had first arrived. A hard knot gathered in her belly. The thought that she must bear such disdain yet again filled her with dread.

Yet Cameron did not hurry their return. The day was spent lazily, as the others had been, swimming in the cove…and wrapped in his arms. The earth lay draped in the midnight haze of nightfall when at last they passed through the gates of Dunthorpe. To Meredith’s vast relief, the bailey was nearly deserted, but for a young boy who ran up and took the reins of Cameron’s steed.

Cameron pulled her down from Fortune’s back. “I must see what has transpired in my absence,” he said. His expression was preoccupied, his tone almost curt. “I will be in the hall. Wait for me in the tower.”

Meredith nodded. A curious peace—a wondrous closeness—had marked these past days at the isle, an unspoken truce where neither MacKay nor Munro existed. The feud might never have been. For a time,
they were but a man and a woman who shared the intimacies of love…

Love
. The thought brought her up short. She was shocked to her very core, shocked that her mind had dared to conjure up such an absurd notion. Her heart knocked crazily. Surely she did not love him. Surely not!

So absorbed was she that she did not notice the tall figure that had just come around the corner near the tower stairs. She collided full tilt with a hard male form. Her head came up. She stared straight into Egan’s unsmiling features.

For an instant it was as if neither knew what to do, what to say. There was a stifling silence.

Something smoldering flared in those icy blue eyes, swiftly masked. “My lady,” he greeted coolly. “I take it Cameron has returned.”

“Aye.” Her nod was jerky. “You’ll find him in the hall.”

His step wide, he moved around her and would have continued on his way. Meredith turned, watching as his shadow loomed high on the stark stone wall, unable to halt the guilt that flooded her.

She took a deep breath. “Egan, wait!”

He stopped short. His shoulders came up. She read in the rigidness of his posture the desire to ignore her. Yet slowly he turned. The tautness of his jaw was discouraging, but she forced herself to go on.

“I hope that Cameron was not too angry with you, when I…when I…”

A black brow slashed upward. “When you escaped from the chapel?” he supplied coldly.

Meeting his gaze was difficult. She told herself she had no reason to feel such shame, yet she did. She winced. “Aye,” she said miserably.

His eyes seemed to bore into her. “I respected your request, lady. I honored your need to be alone while you prayed.”

“I know,” she said quickly. She was the prisoner here-why should she apologize? Yet in truth, she could not blame him for his wariness. Still, she felt compelled to explain. “You must understand,” she said, her voice low. “I was not brought here of my own free will.”

“You have been treated generously, lady. Cameron did not put you under lock and key. Indeed, you have been more guest than prisoner.”

Summoning her dignity, Meredith raised her chin. “I betrayed your trust,” she stated quietly, “and for that I am sorry. I deceived you, and for that I am sorry as well. Yet I believe I did no more than you or any other would have done in my place. And I regret it sorely if I caused you trouble with Cameron—”

“You did not.”

“Good,” she said softly. “For that I am glad.” The smile she sent him was dazzlingly sweet. “Good day to you, Egan.”

He inclined his head stiffly. “Good day to you, lady.”

Egan remained standing there long after she had glided up the stairs. Her demeanor had almost made him feel guilty—almost! Did the wench seek to bewitch him as she had bewitched his friend? But he would not be so careless again, he decided. His jaw hardened. He had been fooled once by her guileless shroud of innocence. No, he would not be so easily charmed as his chieftain—or so readily given to forgiveness!

In his chamber Meredith waited…and waited, yet still Cameron did not come. Succumbing to weariness, she finally slipped into bed. Sleep quickly dropped its murky veil around her, and she slept.

It was some time later that the door gave a noisy creak. Meredith came jarringly awake. Her heart bounded, for she was ever reminded of another intrusion in the dead of night.

She peered into the shadows, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice. “Cameron?”

There was a bumping sound, and then a colorfully muttered curse. “Aye,” confirmed a disembodied voice.

Relief swept through her. Pushing a wild tangle of hair from her cheek, she turned so that she faced him. There were rustling sounds as he shed his clothes. A moment later the mattress gave beneath his greater weight. Strong arms reached for her, enfolding her snug against his warmth as he pressed a brief kiss upon her lips.

Her fingers tangled in the dark mat on his chest. “You taste of ale,” she chided sleepily.

“And you taste of heaven,” he whispered as his mouth closed over hers once more. She yielded with a sound that was half-moan, half-sigh, for the instant their lips met, a sizzling heat seared her soul, a heat that met and matched the fire of his passion. Ah, but it made no sense! She had once thought to want no man…What madness was this that she should want
this
one? But she could not deny him, any more than she could deny her own traitorous longing.

It was a long time later when desire cooled and their bodies parted. Cameron wound a long silken tress of her hair around his fist, as he so often did, and slept.

Near dawn, he arose. He woke her with a kiss, whispering that he had duties to attend to on his lands and would not be back until the evening meal. Meredith waited until it was almost sinfully late to rise, for with Cameron gone, she had little to occupy her time.

No one was more surprised than she to find that Egan and Finn had gone with him. Still, Meredith did not delude herself. She suspected that if she were to stray anywhere near the outer walls, one of his men would have been there to stop her. Yet her bitterness did not long remain. Late that morn outside in the bailey, she turned to find Aileen and several other children running toward her as fast as their legs would carry them.

“Meredith!” the little girl cried. “We missed ye, Meredith!”

Her brother Leith latched on to Meredith’s leg with surprising strength. “Meredith! We thought ye were gone forever. Ye won’t leave again, will ye? Please,” he begged, “say ye won’t!”

Meredith glanced down at their round little faces, their eyes both pleading and elated. Her melancholy melted, along with her heart.

It was nearly noonday when she finally left them. She was nearing the well when a lithe figure planted herself directly before her.

“Well, so you’re back, eh?”

It was Moire. The dark-haired beauty proceeded to look her up and down in a way that proclaimed her dissatisfaction more clearly than words.

Meredith took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. “Hello, Moire,” she said calmly. Despite the other woman’s dislike, she did not share her enmity.

Moire ignored her greeting. She planted her fists on
her hips. “Ye should have kept running,” she hissed. “Ye should have kept running and never stopped!”

This was not the first time Meredith had glimpsed the other woman’s animosity. Yet now she was taken aback by the naked malice that flamed in her eyes. Before she could say a word, Moire’s red lips curled into a snarl.

“He took you to his bed, but he will never take you to his heart. Never, for you are the daughter of the Red Angus. I will never forget it. Nor will he! Oh, aye,” she went on viciously, “he will tire of you. He will tire of you and then he will turn to me!”

Shaken by the venom in Moire’s features, from that day on Meredith did her best to avoid the other woman, for it was almost frightening. She didn’t tell Cameron of the incident, for she knew not what he would say. Would he be angry with her? With Moire? Nay, surely not Moire.

He’d told her he would not marry Moire, that he had no desire to wed, not Moire or any other. The very thought of them together squeezed her heart like a clamp. Yet she would not blame him if he were drawn to her. Indeed, she’d seen many a man’s eye follow the dark-haired temptress, their lust vivid on their faces. Moire was tall and voluptuous and beautiful, while she was small and plain with gaudy red hair!

Moire predicted he would tire of her—in truth, Meredith was certain that he would! Yet not a day went by that he did not take her. No, he did not put her from his bed or his chamber. Instead their nights were spent in wildly erotic discovery. She wondered what it meant…what it would mean, if anything! Or was it simply that he was so eager to get her with child?

In the weeks that followed, boredom vied with loneliness. Cameron brought her several ells of soft wool for some new gowns. Meredith was glad for several reasons. The first was that she intended to return Glenda’s clothing as soon as her new ones were ready. The second was that her other gown was so tattered and stained she hated wearing it. She was also glad of the chance to keep her hands busy. Still, she grew tired of the hours spent in his chamber. Few of his people had warmed to her. Though the rancor in their eyes had faded, she wondered if she would ever be welcome—even if she spent a lifetime in this keep! Egan still eyed her with suspicion, as well as Finn. Most of the women remained distantly aloof.

But then something happened that sent her heart tumbling in despair.

Yesterday as she’d walked through the bailey, Thomas from the granary had nudged the man next to him.

“Daniel just returned from the south,” he said, “where there was word of the Red Angus.”

The other man’s lip curled. “What of him?”

Thomas had hitched his chin toward Meredith. “They say that upon hearing of his daughter’s supposed death, he shut himself away for more than a fortnight and would speak to no one,” he boasted, “and when he finally emerged, he was but a shadow of himself.” He smiled broadly. “Mayhap Cameron will send him to his death yet. ’Tis what he deserves, eh?”

The other man’s reply was lost on Meredith. Quickly she veered away from the pair, pretending she hadn’t heard.

Yet she had worried the night through. Was Papa all right? Was he well? Though she’d been young,
she well remembered how stricken he’d been after her mother died. He was no longer a young man. Would grief now send him to his deathbed?

No.
No
! she told herself. She couldn’t allow herself to think like this, to believe such a thing might happen. And he was not alone, she reminded herself. There was Uncle Robert to care for him.

Yet her mood remained melancholy. Breaking her father’s spirit had been Cameron’s intention all along. Now that he had, no doubt, she decided bitterly, he would be ecstatic. Yet he did not speak of his triumph to her; and she would not remind him. Papa was alive, she told herself, and that was the only thing that mattered.

She spent the rest of the morning trying to sew, but her heart was not in it; her seams were crooked and uneven. Finally, she put it aside and wandered down to the hall.

Autumn approached and the day outside was drizzly and wet. Many of the men had already eaten, but a group of women still remained for the noonday meal. She eyed the empty table near the hearth with disfavor; when Cameron was not about, it was where she took her meals. Glancing back at the women, a hint of rebellion squared her shoulders.

She approached the table where the women sat. Among them was Adele—Aileen and Leith’s mother—and Glenda as well. Their idle chatter and laughter filled the air. Lifting her chin, she calmly took a seat at the end of the bench.

One by one the voices fell silent. A deadly pall fell over the group. Baleful eyes pricked her with their glare—pricked her very heart.

She was on her feet before she knew it. A hot ache nearly closed her throat, but she paid no heed. Blink
ing back angry tears, she raised her chin aloft. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

“What have I done”—she hauled in a deep, unsteady breath—“that you should treat me so? As a child, I lived in fear of the dreaded Clan MacKay. But I have lived among you these many days—lived as one of you—and you are no different than my own people! Your children come to me with arms upraised. I have raised neither voice nor hand to you, nor would I! Yet you shun me as if I carried the taint of leprosy!

“God knows I do not hate you, nary a one of you. Nor do I understand why you should hate me so, for never have I harmed you!” She set free the storm in her soul, her voice shaking with the depth of her emotion. “Aye, I am a Munro, but I am not your enemy and I do not regard you as mine! ’Tis men who continue to fight,” she declared fervidly, “men who prolong this bloody feud. The little ones I held in my arms only yesterday—Aileen and Leith and all the others—there are children just as young and innocent at Castle Munro. It makes me bleed inside to know that very soon hatred will darken their hearts—and why, I ask? Because our fathers and husbands and brothers say it is so, that it has always been so! Yet we all pay the price for their stubbornness, every one of us, and for the life of me, I know not why this feud began! I know only that I fear it will never end!” With that she spun and fled toward the stairs.

In the hall there was a stunned silence. A dozen pair of rounded eyes glanced at each other.

It was Judith, sister to Meghan, who said slowly, “Why
do
we feud with the Munros?”

One woman nodded sagely. “’Tis because they refused to let us cross their lands.”

“That is not what I was told,” protested her neigh
bor. “’Twas because they stole our sheep!”

“Nay, ’twas not sheep that was stolen! ’Twas the chieftain’s favorite gyrfalcon.”

“Which chieftain was that?”

“’Twas Alexander, grandfather to Ronald.”